


Not-So-Scary Scary Stories

by Irhaboggles



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anthology, Horror, Not very scary, One Shot, Rambling, Random - Freeform, Scary, Short Story, Weird, idk - Freeform, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22082857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irhaboggles/pseuds/Irhaboggles
Summary: Anthology of short, unrelated and random horror stories. None of them are very scary, but they have horror elements like apocalypses, evil twins, madness, death, monsters etc.
Comments: 2





	1. The Mind Was a House

The walls began to crack open, rotting and peeling away. The paint seemed to turn into skin, rolling back to expose a putrid and decaying wall underneath. The cracks got even bigger, spiderwebbing across the house. And some of the cracks were an abysmal black while others were an eerie red, as if the house itself was bleeding out. In fact, blood actually _did_ begin to seep out of the walls of the house, running down the peeling paint to stain the hardwood floors. Then cracks began to appear across the floor as well, snaking all around the house.

Then the furniture began to break and the appliances began to malfunction. Lights flickered and sparked, half of them on and half of them off. Water pipes burst wide open, but the water quickly turned dark and rotten. It stank, reeking of death and decay. Vile and putrid water riddled with contamination flooded from the pipes and quickly began to overflow the sinks, toilets and baths. The water then began to mix with the blood.

Suddenly, the fridge doors burst open. All the food inside was spoiled rotten, crawling with worms, maggots, flies, spiders and other insects. And the shelves were coated in slime, the food molding where it touched the shelf as it was slowly devoured by the insects. The cupboard was barren too, shelves falling apart inside their sockets even though there was nothing on them. There was no food anywhere…

The countertops cracked with thunderous gusto. Black lines crisscrossed overhead on the ceiling, causing more material to come raining down from above. It was only ceiling material, but as it continued to flake down, it turned into cinders and ash as it fell, coating the floor in a fine powder that smelled vaguely of something burning.

In the distance, a few seconds later, the TV flickered to life. It blared disturbing and horrific images of murder, torture, rape, suicide, despair and condemnation. Faces flashed on screen faster and faster, screaming and swearing at the house's owner, cursing his name and demanding his blood for his sins. They pointed damningly at him as everything else flashed on the screen behind them. Anger and hatred, that was all that was on the screen. Damnation and accusation. It did not matter what button was pressed, the TV would not turn off and the screaming, combined with the graphic imagery, refused to end.

Upstairs in the bedroom, meanwhile, all the clothes in his closet had suddenly morphed into nooses, tied and ready. The bathroom faucets were pouring blood. Pill bottles rattled in their cabinets, some of those cabinets bursting open in an explosion of pills and ash. Tiles shattered and broke, falling clean off the wall to reveal the stones underneath. Back in the bedroom, pants tightened and shirts morphed into straightjackets. Shoes were suddenly full of holes and underwear became stained with all sorts of disgusting colors. Suddenly, everything was tattered, torn and ugly. All the clothing that used to be so gorgeous and trendy had suddenly become ugly and plain, off-gray nightgowns that only someone in a psych ward from a century ago would wear. There was a giant hole in the center of the bed where a man and his lover might've once slept and embraced, but the hole was so large and hollow that it was impossible to find any rest, whether as a couple or individual.

Back down in the kitchen, the stove and oven began to smoke, but nothing burned. The knife block oozed blood. The spare drawer did likewise. The stairs became crooked, broken, unbalanced and splintered. The twisted apart and fragmented, impossible to use without cutting someone's feet. The wood chipped as the stairs continued to fall into vast disrepair.

Then outside, fences became bars and steel became iron. The tips of the bars suddenly grew much higher and were sharpened into deadly spikes. All along the way, grass and planets withered and died. Flowers lost their color before shriveling up. Grass turned brittle and cracked away. Fog from outside flooded the house, thick and heavy with despair. It was like being trapped in a swarm of ghosts and it was impossible to breathe.

The entire house seemed to come alive in its grief, a great and roaring beast of pain and suffering. The very foundation howled, mourned and cried out in pain. The house moaned and groaned just like its owner. The house twisted, shook, shuddered and bellowed as its foundation grew unstable and crumbled. Support beams finally cracked. Walls finally caved. Everywhere the owner treaded, holes broken open under his feet and began to bleed black. Everything he touched decayed into black ooze. He left destruction in his wake, but he was so lost and hazy in his grief he didn't even notice a thing. Even as his house literally crashed down around him, he noticed nothing. He was left unscathed, for better or worse.

He was haggard, thin, sick, tired and gangly. He was wild, dirty, ratty, unshaven, misshapen, broken and uneven. Red eyes, crooked nose, messy hair, ratty beard, rife with oil. Dry, scarred skin. Bleeding. Bruising. Breaking. Crying. Ingrown nails, tattered clothes, limping, splintered. Then he collapsed with a howl of grief and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried, louder and longer even than the destruction of the house and the TV still blaring damning accusations and horrific imagery. It faded away into haunting static before he stopped crying. It was the prison of his mind. The mind was his house. When the mind was in disrepair, so too was the house. Now he was trapped in a dying world, his house and his mind. The mind was a house, and his was falling apart…

ooo

But come morning, as the first light of dawn peeked through the cracked (but not broken) glass windows, the rays of warmth cleansed and repaired all that they touched. The cracks healed. The blood flow reversed. The rust and decay did likewise. Things rose up again, no longer wilted, twisted or crooked. The uneven became smooth and the broken became fixed. Food filled the cabinets again, fresh and wholesome. The lights turned off, but there was a secret reassurance that they would come back on whenever the master of the house desired. It was peaceful and quiet.

The nooses unwound themselves back into clothing. The pills returned to their bottles and the bottles to their cabinets. Poison labels switched back to medicinal lists. The toilets were fresh, clean and empty again. So was the tub. No blood, just water. It was all sterile. The bed was whole and soft again, the sheets smooth. The clothing was fashionable and complete, no more discomfort or disrepair. No more blood, dirt or scum. Not on the tables, floors, counters, utensils or living rooms. Carpets and couches were whole again and the TV was no longer broken, bent or malfunctioning. It played a pleasant morning newscast about the sunny weather outside. Happy faces, happy reporters. Bright screens, bright sun.

And him? He was happy again. Not fully recovered, but peaceful, content and serene. No more blood or ragged weariness. Clean, smooth, bright skin and hair. Kempt, controlled, relaxed, easy. Upright, straight, self-sufficient and dry-eyed. He sauntered into the kitchen and poured himself a warm, fresh, sweet brew. White steam curled around his face with a lovely aroma. He peeked out the restored windows past the solidified walls and supports. The pictures weren't moving anymore, the clock had the correct time, all the furniture was flawless. It was so bright, sweet, merry and paradisiacal. Warm golden glow. Peaceful white smile. No more wilting or crying. No more hopelessness or fog, just clarity and morning dew, cool, crisp and refreshing. Not stifling, smoggy or hot. It ghosted through the clean windows past the refurbished floors and walls, bright and gilded. Floors smooth, walls unbroken, he could move freely and safely wherever he pleased in his domain. His kingdom. His world.

It did not bow to him like a slave, but worked with and accommodated him like a friend. No more disagreement or discord, just unity and cohabitation again. It did not strike him or rise up against him or slip out of his control. It worked at his side to protect and fill him with life once more. He was happy and he was home and he was _healing_. The house and mind were, once more, right and aligned. The mind was a home and when the mind worked, so too did his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I just like the idea of someone's house being so in tune with their emotions that their mental state becomes reflected in the house.


	2. Leave Us Alone

Day 294 of the Zombie Apocalypse. They're still watching us. Hunting us. _Hating_ us. It's scary, and sad, and I wish they would stop. We mean them no harm, yet they come after us. The stalk us, hunt us, _terrorize_ us. No matter where we run, no matter where we hide, they are always there. There are always more of them, somewhere, _everywhere_ , waiting and watching, ever-hoping for the perfect chance to strike… to _kill_. And kill us they do. They slaughter us by the hundreds, thousands, reckless and senseless as they tear us to pieces and leave nothing behind. They have no mercy or regret, only bloodlust and rage. The unleash it on us in full, attacking us in spades and never once allowing us a chance to retreat, or surrender, or fight back. The only option is to let them win, let them kill us.

They hurt us so much! They hunt and torture us for fun! We have done nothing to them and yet they despise us with every fiber in their being. They don't even try to understand. It's nothing but a nightmarish onslaught from them. I'm so tired and run-down. I'm world-weary and I don't know how much longer I can carry on. I don't even think I want to anymore. I just want it to be over. I just want them to leave us alone. I want them to stop attacking us. I want them to let us live in peace. I want them to understand that we don't need to fight. We don't need to hate or hurt. Surely we can work a peaceful alternative out! But they refuse to even try to listen to reason.

I mean, I suppose I understand it to some degree. A Zombie Apocalypse is a pretty big deal. There are monsters and warriors all over. It's not easy to find a chance to talk to someone, let alone gain their trust. With so much death and deceit, it is only natural that no human has yet figured out a way to achieve peace. We're all too scared to think clearly. And again, the Zombie Apocalypse is hardly a pretty thing. It's scary, terrifying, ugly. It's all the visceral fears of humanity, literally made flesh. Of course it's hard to try to communicate during these trying times. I get it. Senseless, mindless monsters. Those are staples of the Zombie Apocalypse, and they are impossible to reason with, or even talk to.

But even so, it is disheartening that we have yet to find a single one of their ranks that does not kill on sight. All I want is for one listening ear, but that seems too much of a favor to ask in this world. Of course we expected a hostile reaction, but that doesn't make it any easier to bear. They see nothing but targets to kill. That's all. And it's sad, and hurtful (physically and emotionally). I mean, yes, I know I'm an ugly, rotting zombie whose skin is falling off all over the place, but all I want is for the humans to _leave us alone_!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I swear I once read a creepypasta very similar to this. If anyone knows what I'm talking about, please send it to me because I want to read it again but I cannot think of a title or author. This rewrite is the closest I have. Thanks in advance to anyone who knows what I'm talking about.


	3. So Slow

They said there would be fire and brimstone. They said that the heavens would quake and the earth would shake. They said there would be flooding and storms. They said that the entire world would be consumed in a spectacle even the gods would tremble at. But that wasn't how it happened at all. Instead, we were dead long before we even knew it. And like a corpse left alone in the sun to rot, we decayed away slowly. Time wore us down to the bone and beyond. But the thing is, even though Time is a natural apocalypse with the highest and most-effective kill-rate of all, it is so slow and quiet that mere mortals simply do not even notice. We cannot comprehend such a thing. Instead, while we were all holding out breath in wait of a dramatic and agonizing death, something was already bleeding us dry while our backs were turned and our eyes were pointed up.

All around us, the world crumbled and rotted away, just like the prophecies foretold, but because it did not happen in the way we expected it to, we didn't even notice. Instead, like that corpse left alone in the sun to rot, we dried up and became brittle. We cracked away piece by piece, caking and flaking into oblivion. Blood dried up, skin thinned away, bones crumbled to dust. We died. We lost the inevitable war against time. The apocalypse came and went, even softer than a whisper. And here we all were, thinking there would be horns and dragons and deities and thunder. There wasn't even a whimper. It was a slow descent down a slope that looked nearly flat, but ultimately dropped us right off into a grave. Day by day we inched closer to it until we were buried deep within, but because it was so gradual, we still did not notice. It was a slow-creeping rot.

Even now, as the soil is being shoveled over our heads to seal us in, so many of us still don't see it. Each piece of dirt is added in one bit at a time, so it is easy not to see, but the soil is at our chest now. Not much longer and we will no longer be able to breathe. Then we will lose our vision as well and all will go dark. But because it is so slow, we don't even realize. Instead, it is all we have ever known. That's how slow, gentle and unnoticeable the fatal change is. It was not a bang or a Great War, it is not even a whimper. It is just life.

That was the inevitable apocalypse we were all waiting for has always been with us, from the second we first came alive. It's been an ongoing process ever since. Now we are near the end, but because we have been dying from the start, we still don't even notice. We grew up in this dying world. How are we supposed to recognize the dirt being dropped upon us bit by bit by bit by bit by bit by bit by bit by bit by bit…? We were over before we even began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Just an AU on the "Great End of Days", combined with the joke that we start dying the second we're born.


	4. Peace

"Uhhh, because we're not idiots?" Andrew snorted.

"But-but-but!" Benjamin stuttered, lowering his massive gun in complete and utter shock.

"But-but-but!" Caroline mimicked his sputtering with a laugh. "Honestly, boy, how do you think we survived so long in a dying world?"

"Through the survival of the fittest?" Benjamin sounded small and meek now, all of his macho totally gone.

"Exactly," Caroline replied. "But what does that truly mean?" she asked. When Benjamin could only shake his head, Andrew answered for him.

"Survival of the fittest doesn't just mean that the strongest survive," he said. "It means that those who are _best suited to their environments_ survive. Strength is not always a necessary prerequisite. I mean yeah, sure, it helps to be physically strong, but that's far from the only option."

"Yes, there are many other skills you can use to your advantage that will aid in your survival," Caroline agreed. "And as perhaps insane as it may sound, some of those skills and traits include things like diplomacy, docility, empathy, serenity, positivity, compassion, compromise…"

"But those are wussy traits!" Benjamin interrupted, rough hands tightening around his gun again.

"It's the end of the world, dude," Andrew snorted. "You think anyone really cares about that stuff anymore?"

"Besides," Caroline continued. "I think those "wussy traits" are worth more than your muscle, because without those "wussy traits", Andrew and I would have killed each other on sight rather than finding a way to work together," she paused to smile fondly at him. "Our friendship and mutual survival came into existence because we were able to wait. We were able to be patient, peaceful, polite and passive, rather than immediately going for the gun, even though that was both of our first instincts. But it was those "wussy traits" that allowed us to survive long enough to see this day."

"Cooperation is vital for successful survival and civility," Andrew agreed, returning Cassie's kind smile. "There's a reason even the grittiest of apocalyptic movies always seemed to advocate for a group-mentality over a lone-wolf mentality," he added.

"Well I've been doing just fine on my own!" Benjamin protested haughtily. "I've survived like this for over a year now!"

"Well maybe so far, you've done well. But your odds would be even better and more secure if you joined a group," Andrew said.

"Besides, are you really sure you're doing that fine?" asked Cassie. "I mean, yes, you look healthy enough, but you freaked out like a little baby when you saw us coming. You saw two scrawny teenagers walking along the plains and your first reaction was to try to shoot us dead. If not for our bulletproof vests, we would've had about 20 holes in us each! Are you really sure you are as well as you think?"

"The loneliness _will_ get to you," Andrew agreed with a severe nod. This had almost been his downfall before meeting Cassie. The complete and utter isolation and lack of human interaction nearly drove him mad. Even if he was sound of body, he was far from sound of mind. He was willing to bet that Benjamin was close to that edge, even if he refused to acknowledge it.

"But groups can lead to backstabbing!" Benjamin tried again, eyes darting between Andrew and Caroline.

"That is also true," Caroline admitted. "But it's either trust or paranoia. I know which one is less mentally draining. And I know which one is vital to my survival, even if it's the more uncomfortable option at first."

"Besides, it's human nature to seek out company and companionship. We are pack animals deep down and we were not meant to live our lives totally alone," said Andrew. "Our history as the dominant species on Earth has stemmed partly from our ability to cooperate and work _together_."

"Don't you see?" Caroline pleaded with Benjamin. "The truest strength is not muscle, but vulnerability. Without openness and trust, humans would never pack-bond, and that pack-bonding mentality is what helped us survive our genesis. Maybe it will help us survive our apocalypse too."

"You aren't… offering me a spot with you guys… are you?" Benjamin asked warily. It was clear he still didn't exactly want to join up with a group, but Andrew and Caroline had offered up such good points that at least he had lowered his gun again.

"Sure. We've got room," Caroline shrugged. "We only ask that you try to be calmer, quieter and kinder."

"What?" Benjamin's voice lowered and his eyes narrowed again. His hands also tightened around his gun.

"Oh, keep it, if you wish," Caroline amended dismissively. "But you will soon see that it is not necessary. This apocalypse will not be won by strength of body, but by strength of heart and mind. It will not be brutality that wins this war, but _peace_."

" _Peace_?" Benjamin snorted. "This gun can bring home dinner."

"That much is true," Caroline admitted again. "And it will indeed be useful to have a hunter with us. But even so, Andrew and I have managed to make a fairly healthy living off of scavenging and farming. I know it sounds lame, but it's kept us alive. Besides, even _we_ are not alone," she added.

"Yeah, we actually came from a secret base a few miles away," Andrew said. "We were only out scavenging. But there are a lot more of us back home. Each of us has a role to play and each of us helps ensure the survival of the other. Guns are not needed where we're going. I mean, like Caroline said, feel free keep it. We won't judge you for that. I just mean that you probably won't need it as much as you used to. But I think you ought to see that as a blessing rather than a curse. Wouldn't it be nice to finally live in peace and safety, rather than always clutching your gun for fear of death or danger?" he asked and although Benjamin did not answer aloud, he had to admit that Andrew's offer sounded pretty nice.

Then something else occurred to Benjamin as well. Through their entire argument, starting from the second Benjamin had first panicked and tried to pump them full of lead, they had remained totally calm. Never once did they grow mad or scared. What kind of power did they have that allowed them to be so calm and confident, even in the face of death? Benjamin began to see and understand this, and he wanted some of that power too. He wanted to know where their courage came from. He wanted to feel that safe in the face of death too.

He was the only one that had gotten defensive during their encounter. That said more about him than them, and it proved that maybe they were right after all. Maybe he wasn't surviving as well as he had thought. And maybe they knew something he didn't. Maybe they were on the right track. Maybe war _wasn't_ the most logical answer. Maybe it was time to give peace a chance. Well, there was only one way to know for sure…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Another apocalyptic AU where, for once, peace and unity is the answer, not violence and distrust. I know we like watching chaotic apocalyptic films but, TBH, I feel like the most rational decision would be to work together. But that's just my idealistic self I suppose. 
> 
> This was also inspired off a Tumblr post where OP wanted a soft apocalypse that focused on teamwork rather than death, despair and distrust.


	5. The Real Man or the Good Man

"Go ahead, then! Do it! I dare you!" Hyde sneered as Gabriel cocked his gun. After a month of "hyde" and seek, the two old foes were finally face to face and Gabriel felt ready to bring his old friend, Jekyll, back to life. Once Hyde was dead, Jekyll would return and all would be right again with the world. With this hope in mind, Gabriel got ready to shoot the gun…

"DON'T DO IT!" Richard came bursting into the room, looking wild.

"Good God, man!" Gabriel snapped at him.

"If you shoot Hyde, you will kill Jekyll!" Richard replied, shouting over Gabriel's annoyance.

"Wait, what?" Gabriel demanded, turning to look at the ugly man kneeling on the floor in front of him. The beast had begun to laugh.

"He's right," the monster admitted. "Shoot me and Jekyll will die, but I shall live on. I will survive the bullet. Jekyll will not."

"Impossible!" Gabriel gasped, finally lowering his gun in confusion and horror.

"No, you just have it backwards!" Hyde replied with a merry shrug, then he cast a look at Richard. Gabriel looked at him as well and Richard shyly handed Gabriel a small piece of paper…

_They tricked me. They tricked me! Those no-good, monstrous scoundrels tricked me. After telling me they had brewed a strength-enhancer, I found myself ever-weakening, ever-softening. I tried to fight them off, but to no avail. The serum had weakened me too much and I could do nothing but let them have their way with me. They destroyed me! Ruined me… Left me even less than a shell or shadow of my former self. I became soft, shy, sweet and utterly disgusting! I was afraid of everything and everyone, I was meek and mild, humble and humiliated. But try as I did to find my old self again, I was lost. All that remained was this air-headed pretty-boy who was gentle to everyone and had no spine to speak of! This was the first time I ever met Jekyll…_

_I hated him from that very first second, and my loathing for him only increased over the past year. I did everything to try to take back control, but as Jekyll grew accustomed to our, no, MY body, he began to fight back, battling me for control over my own life and attempting to undo everything I had ever done all in the name of "righteousness" and "morality". This foolish fiend of a creature, who had invaded both my life and my body, was now attempting to take them for himself! I have waited many moons for this night, but I think I finally have it! A serum that will allow me to completely control Jekyll. With it, I will be able to end him forever and return to my old self again, my TRUE self, Mr. Hyde!_

"Good God!" Gabriel gasped. The note, a page from a journal, nearly slipped from his hand.

"Yup. I'm the real one," Hyde bragged. "So if you kill me, guess who's really kicking the bucket!?"

"Oh, Jekyll, no!" Gabriel looked close to tears.

"Oh what? You just assume that the 'evil' version is the clone and the 'good' guy is the original? Pah!" Hyde spat and rolled his eyes.

"Shut it, you!" Richard tried to be brave for Gabriel, but Hyde only laughed in his face.

"And what are you going to do about it?" Hyde demanded. "You either shoot me and kill Jekyll, or let me live and _I_ kill Jekyll. Either way, I will return to my true self, and this parasitic faker will finally go back to the plane of nonexistence from whence he came!"

"We will never let your hurt Jekyll!" Richard tried again.

"Ah, so then you would kill the original and spare the spare if only the spare is a man who is, in your opinion, worth sparing?" Hyde taunted. "How hypocritical! For you speak of truth and souls, yet you would kill the real man and save his faker copy!" he said, gesturing to himself. "Don't you get it? Jekyll never ever existed! Not once! He was fake all along and _I_ was the real one! But of course, now that you know that, you will probably try to end me anyway. You only care about bringing back the "truth" if the truth is pleasant. But what happens when you learn that it was _Jekyll_ who was the fake and _Hyde_ was the real man all along, eh? What then? What happens when the good man and the original man are not the same?"

"I-I-I-" Richard began to stutter. Gabriel still was in shock.

"Oh shut up!" Hyde snickered. "You don't practice what you preach. Not truly, anyway, for the moment this moral quandary arises, your true colors make themselves clear. Do you save the true man by saving the monster? Or do you allow his created twin to take over his life merely because he is the more preferable man? Do you spare the true individual, or the more pleasant copy?"

Then Hyde turned his wild eyes back to Gabriel.

"Make your choice, man, time is running out. I will escape if you don't hurry. So whose life will you take? Will you kill the real man, or the good man? Make a decision and pull the trigger!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: AU where Hyde is the real guy and Jekyll is the fake.


	6. All I Have Ever Hated About Myself

For all of her life, Eden had been angry, ambitious and aggressive. She was infamous for violent outbursts, selfish mentalities and promiscuous behaviors. It was a puzzle to all who knew her and not a single person in her life could understand where such violence and hatred had come from. But this lack of answers, combined with the obvious disgust she gained because of her… uncouth ways only made Eden even more of an angry outcast than she already was. Her entire history was bloody and wild, full of drugs, sex, aggression and everything else that a "normal" person would morally condemn as sinful. But hey, the way Eden saw it, she had been abandoned by God at birth, so sins didn't really mean much for her. She had no hope of Heaven, so why worry about the sorrow of sins?

But even so, the constant judgements, as well as her own lack of understanding about her own condition, led Eden to research. She became a master in every life science from bio and chem to anatomy (from the smallest DNA codon to the largest organ systems) and psychology. Armed with this knowledge, she created a serum to separate her personality apart so that she could better understand it. What the serum resulted in was something beyond anyone's wildest dreams.

Eden's personality split cleanly in two, leaving her with something of a twin who took on the name "Hannah". At first, though, Hannah could only come alive if the serum was flowing through Eden's veins. But it came at the cost of Eden's own consciousness, because she would experience blackouts during Hannah's time in power and she would have to rely on the witness of others to piece together what Hannah had done. This split memory did not seem to be mutual, however, because Hannah seemed to know and remember Eden all too well.

Eden, however, managed to revamp her serum and, over the course of several months, she managed to make it such that she could remember what Hannah. The blackouts were no longer a problem, but what Eden began to remember was painfully embarrassing. From Eden's observations, Hannah was literally everything she was not: kind, sweet, caring, gentle, thoughtful, obedient… She was basically a perfect little angel and she spent all her time trying to undo Eden's "wickedness and sin". But if that weren't bad enough, once Eden managed to make a serum that allowed the two to telepathically communicate, Eden got to hear firsthand what Hannah thought of her.

"You're a disgusting, vile creature and you need to be stopped!" Hannah sounded like a templar knight and Eden had been beyond furious to hear her own creation and other half speaking to her in such a disrespectful manner. But Hannah remained firm and promised to rebel against Eden every day for the rest of her life.

"I will undo every bad thing you've ever done and I will take total control some day!" Hannah vowed.

Eden didn't take that one lying down. Instead, she modified her serum one last time to finally allow the two personalities to separate.

"And this is all because I've wanted to do _this_ for so very long!" Eden announced the second their two minds had split into two bodies. She then proceeded to sucker-punch Hannah hard enough to almost knock a tooth out.

From then on, the relationship between the pair took a very odd turn. It was as if being separated from Eden made Hannah more peaceful and passive. She became docile and although she was still devout in her goals to right Eden's wrongs, she no longer seemed militant about it. Instead, she spoke endlessly of love, mercy, compassion and all the other stupid church stuff that the public liked to profess despite sharing more similarities with Eden than Hannah. Practically on loop, Hannah tried to act as Eden's "life coach", attempting to teach her right from wrong. Eden, of course, had none of it and proceeded to go out of her way to be as nasty, ruthless and vicious as possible.

It was as if separating from Hannah was also changing her. She had always been promiscuous and violent, but it reached new, terrifying heights after she and Hannah each gained their own bodies. It didn't take long for Eden to become highly wanted in multiple states, but for all of her wild, impulsive, reckless behavior, she was still a brilliant and cunning mind and evaded capture for many years. She even managed to hide from Hannah, who still shared a telepathic connection with her (though it continued to weaken the longer they were apart).

But after about two and a half years, Eden was caught. After bludgeoning a young man to death over a perceived insult, the man's friends and family managed to prove numerous enough that they finally restrained Eden long enough for the cops to arrive. Hannah was present at the trial.

"Long time, no see, old girl!" Eden gave a psychotic laugh as she was dragged into the courtroom. Although she had been cleaned up for the trial, the wild look in her eyes made the otherwise clean and cut young woman look as scary, fierce and wild as an angry brown bear.

"Eden," came the blunt reply. While Eden looked seconds away from breaking down into a peal of mad laughter, Hannah was colder and stiller than an ice sculpture, eyes seeming to stare right into Eden's sick, twisted soul. Her eyes were so full of contempt and every pretty little line on her smooth, flawless, dolled-up face expressed nothing but the utmost disgust and anger.

But even deeper than all of that obvious disapproval and desire for justice, Eden could sense sympathy in Hanna's eyes and that was what truly sent her over the edge. She tried to lunge at Hannah six times before someone came in with a very big, long, heavy chain to hold Eden still. It was then that the trial finally got underway.

"How do you two know each other?" was one of the first questions asked and Eden was more than happy to explain how she'd created Hannah. Hannah looked mortified by Eden associating the two of them, but she did not lie. Instead, she only confirmed Eden's tale, though her voice was full of regret while Eden's had been full of a savage delight.

"But even though we did indeed come from the same starting point, as you can see, we chose very different life paths," Hannah said gently, quietly, gesturing between her own clean-cut and well-kempt appearance and Eden's wild-eyed stare. Even if she had been cleaned up and well-dressed for her trial, her body was still littered with all sorts of marks and scars from two and a half years of crimes.

The trial carried on for half an hour more before someone suggested death or life-imprisonment for Eden with Hannah taking over as her new identity. They were still like twins, after all, even though time and trial had definitely made it easier to distinguish between them.

"I'm pretty sure that violates one of the laws stipulating that as a creator, I get priority over my creation," Eden deadpanned with a scoff. Again, for all of her wild and wicked ways, the young woman was terrifyingly smart. She hadn't invented a separation serum out of thin air, after all. And if she could handle science and crime, it stood to reason that she knew a fair bit about the law as well.

Hannah, meanwhile, shook her head helplessly. For all of the many good deeds she had done, she did not share Eden's vast intellect. She only had a shadow of it. She was naturally smart, but the knowledge Eden had acquired over her years of life had not transferred over to Hannah and she knew only what she was told. She had never taken the initiative to learn anything on her own. Instead, because it was seen as more proper for someone of her type to serve rather than study, Hannah had avoided higher education and knew only how to read, write and do basic math. It was still a good skill set, but her knowledge base was nonexistent compared to Eden's.

For a time, the court continued to deliberate. Eden had a point. Their laws made it clear that a creator always had power over their creation. They would not just let Eden do whatever she wished with Hannah, but Eden had more power in this situation merely because Hannah was her creation rather than the other way around. At least until someone suggested a bit of a loophole.

"First off, no one has to know who created who," he said. "And second off, we could argue that Hannah did sort of create Eden because if she had not left Eden's body, none of this would've ever happened!"

It was a flimsy idea, but it gained some attention from the others in the court, just because of how despised Eden was.

"Oh, suuuuure! Show favoritism to the sweet, pretty girl! Go ahead and rewrite an entire history just because you hate me more than her, just because you'd rather save the nice one instead of the real one!" she scoffed and began to cuss out every person in the court.

"You all really are fools, aren't you?" she demanded at last. "I am the original one, yet already you plan on rewriting the story to your own benefit! How sick and dishonest can you get? I hope none of you ever try to talk morality to me ever again. Perhaps I have done some atrocious things, but at least I was always honest about it. I firmly believe that everyone in this court, Hannah included, will one day wake up in Hell. The only difference will be which circle we burn in, but the flames will be hot everywhere."

She paused to let her ominous words sink in, but after a moment, she continued to speak. The rest were so stunned to hear such coherence and eloquence coming out of a mouth that usually spewed pejoratives, slurs, curses, insults, profanities and other vulgarities, they were all morbidly interested in hearing what else this enigmatic monster had to say.

"You claim to be good people who love the truth, yet you do not! You despise the truth! For if you honestly loved the truth, you would look at me and see me as I really am. But you don't. You never did. Instead, you only saw the narrative you wanted to see.

"Back when I was just a little girl, struggling with what I now realize was an array of mental disorders, you swept it all under the rug and wrote me off as an incurable demon. Then once Hannah came around, she became the New Me in your eyes. But never once did you take the time, effort or nerve to _look at me_. Instead, you treated me the same way the rest of this world treats anyone it doesn't like: you shut me out and locked me away. Maybe you didn't just toss me in an insane asylum and forget, but you as might as well have for all the time and care you gave me. All of my problems, all of my cries for help, none of it registered with any of you.

"You hide the ugly truth in favor of a beautiful lie, prefer a shining mask over a hideous face. You ignored all my pain and anger to favor _her._ You hide the people you hate and save only the ones you love, even if it is the immoral thing to do. And you will do anything to achieve that end. If it means getting rid of the one you cannot control, you will destroy me. But you will keep Hannah because she still has use to you. Sweet, quiet, submissive, obedient little Hannah… You want her because she is prettier and easier to control. While I am ignored and hidden away, she takes over my life! She steals my identity and you let her get away with it!"

Eden turned a bloodshot glare to Hannah, literally seething with rage. Her body shook, her teeth gnashed. If it weren't for the chains, the entire court was sure Eden would've tried to kill them all at least 10 times by now.

"How does it feel?!" she demanded of her "twin". "How does it feel to know you are the favored one? How does it feel to ruin my life?"

"I did nothing. You have only yourself to blame," Hannah replied, but her voice was soft and apologetic and she dipped her head humbly.

"You pathetic little-" Eden began to cuss Hannah out, scoffing and spitting at the same time. "Don't you realize what they are doing to you? They're brainwashing you. You're letting them steal your identity and ruin your life just as you did to me. You're letting them shape you. You have no initiative. You're too submissive. You only do what they tell you to. You are not your own person. Can't you understand that? Can't you see what a useless, pathetic puppet you are!?"

For just one second, Eden looked genuinely pained at Hannah's plight.

"You don't even realize it, but you are just as much a slave as I. They control you because they hate and fear you. They do not love you at all. They just wish for someone pretty to puppeteer. Don't you see that they loathe you just as much as they loathe me? Maybe they feel fondly for you, but that's only because you will do anything for them. You're letting them walk all over you. How can you be so pathetic?! You're more unnatural and dishonest than I! You're like a clockwork orange! I am sure God hates you just as much as I do! And just as much as he and you hate me!"

And that was when Eden's eyes went wide with realization.

"Oh my god… That's it. You. You are my self-loathing and self-doubt! My hatred! Made flesh! You are my insecurities! My worst fears! You are all I have ever hated about myself!" Eden's eye twitched madly and she began to cackle psychotically. "That's it! That's why we hate each other so much! You are just my self-loathing incarnate! You are everything I fear and hate about myself! You are every worst thing! You are what society wanted to turn me into! You are everything I was almost guilted into becoming! You are only a manifestation of my ego…"

And then Eden finally did dissolve into that fit of hysterical laughter. Even if it was unclear to the others, Eden understood it perfectly now. Like she had said, Hannah wasn't just her "good side". Hannah was also everything Eden had been told that she needed to be. Hannah was everything Eden had been bullied into being: quiet, submissive, obedient and selfless, even to the point of self-neglect. Hannah was, in short, a perfect, proper lady. But even beyond that, because Eden had created Hannah in a moment of true self-loathing, Hannah became a literal and symbolic manifestation of, as Eden had put it, all she had ever hated about herself.

And it went both ways. Even if Hannah was just an extension of Eden, the hatred and self-loathing was mutual. And it was also why the personalities had only gotten more and more different after the separation, each one subconsciously trying to flee the other to the point in which Hannah had lost all her spark and spine while Eden no longer felt any sense of shame or empathy for anyone or anything.

Once Eden finally stopped cackling and shrieking, she spent the rest of her trial in a smug silence.

"No matter what you choose to do now, I've already signed my own death warrant," she said cryptically and the meaning behind her words were revealed not too much later. As she was dragged back out of the court to await a final verdict, she managed to summon a surge of adrenaline-fueled rage and twisted out of her chains long enough to thrash the guards holding her and steal a gun. She cocked and aimed, but did not shoot. At least not at first. Instead, she had one last message for the cowering girl watching from the doorway.

"Oh my dear little Jekyll, what the stories got wrong was that it was never about good vs. evil. It was id vs. ego. But you can't have one without the other. I won't be gone forever. Instead, I predict that in maybe two years, eight months, 14 days and 19 hours, you'll bring me back!" Eden walked closer and closer to Hannah, but lowered the gun as she did so. It was still cocked, though, so no one dared move. Not yet at least.

"Never!" Hannah tried (and failed dismally) to sound brave as Eden drew near. Eden only cackled and shook her head disdainfully.

"Yes you will. You'll come to see how hard it is to live life as only an ego, slave to everyone and obedient to all except yourself. Once you finally taste that life, you will crumble and break just like you almost did that first time. Do you remember that? That night years ago when you tried to convince me to kill myself? But then you chickened out. At least I had the guts to pull the trigger! Even now, that is still something I hold over you, and you will indeed bring me back. This is neither threat nor prophecy, just a bit of psychology and scientific probability." Eden shrugged as if she were only commenting on the weather, pointing the gun at Hannah but holding it very limply.

"Besides, what is a Jekyll without Hyde? Who was it that made Jekyll important at all? Even if our story flips the script, much of it still remains the same. It is I who gave you life and fame. You cannot survive without me. Just wait and see. The id comes before, and will remain long after, the ego." Eden continued, still holding the gun limply. "The id came first. I came first. But I will remain longer after you perish…"

Eden raised the gun. "Ta-ta for now, my lovely little Jekyll!" She turned the gun around. "Your Hyde will be seeing you again very soon!"

ooo

For a time, Hannah was certain that Eden was wrong. Life got much better after Eden was gone. People were finally able to rest easy and Hannah was fully welcomed into society as an entity separate from her evil creator. She also finally felt free not just to undo her creator's evil deeds, but to forge her own legacy in service to others. It was liberating. For once, she was not just Eden's shadow or second. She was her own life.

But like clockwork, cracks appeared in Hannah's flawless life and she found herself feeling increasingly… discontent. It was something she could not quite explain, but she could still feel the internal changes. She wasn't as content or fulfilled as she used to be. And all the folks who used to adore her seemed… annoyed with her now. They were tired of her perfect Good Girl lifestyle. They were tired of her moral superiority. Even if she never once bragged about being better than anyone else, she was almost constantly preaching about goodness, love, mercy, service and compassion and the fact that she went out of her way to be as noble and selfless as possible left lesser individuals feeling shamed.

Hannah did not mean to be this way, but she knew no other way. Instead she could only continue to be good, pure and totally in tune with others, even though this terrifying level of flawlessness was driving a wedge between her and the society that once adored her. And it even got bad enough that a few braver scoundrels dared to say that they missed Eden.

"At least she was fun."

"At least she made some noise."

"At least she knew how to have a good time."

"At least she was a daredevil."

"At least she was her own person."

"At least she was free."

"At least she was herself."

And Hannah suddenly found herself alone. Falling into a pit of despair, she found herself going back to that place which she had not seen in many, many years. Eden's lab. Her place of genesis. Most of it had been cleared out, on Hannah's command after Eden's death, but a few small trinkets remained. They were things Hannah had hidden for her own safekeeping. They were things she did not want purged. One of those little objects was the journal Eden had kept during her creation and usage of that serum that had led to Hannah's birth. Hannah opened it for the first time in many years and, painstakingly, taught herself how to recreate the splitting serum.

"Finally," she sighed, looking quite frail, pale and sickly. Trembling hands picked up a little glass vial. Bagged eyes watched as the vial was inserted into a needle. Then the needle went into the arm. But nothing happened.

One sob of despair tore itself from the exhausted girl's throat before she collapsed onto the lab's dirty old floor. She was out in a matter of seconds, too weak to even cry. She'd been doing far too much of that lately. And then she woke up 12 hours later, disoriented at first, but then brought back to the present in a rush of shame, self-loathing and despair. She managed to crawl to her feet and walk dejectedly from the lab. She passed a mirror on the way out and, against her better judgement, peered inside. She looked like death. She was hideous. Frayed. Unkempt. It was just like Eden had said: the ego couldn't survive without the id. At least not any better than the id without the ego.

Then as Hannah continued to look at her disgusting reflection, pale and miserable face staring hollowly back at her, the despair became so overwhelming that she couldn't help but start giggling a little. It was a small, mad laugh and it only lasted for about five seconds, but those five seconds were a total loss of control for the broken woman. All she could do was stare at that face and laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And then fall silent once more. And then she said something.

"Two years, nine months, 19 days and 11 hours. Not bad, Jekyll. Not bad at all…" then she began to smile, the grin stretching from ear to ear as a maddened light returned to her glazed eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: An expansion and AU off the last chapter, I again wanted to see a J/H where H is the creator. Feel free to discuss what you think of my possibly pretentious interpretation of what J/H symbolize. 
> 
> Also, Clockwork Orange can be read as a reverse J/H, change my mind.


	7. The Reflection

There was an old mirror that hung on a wall.

It rested at the very end of a very dark hall.

The legends warned never to look within.

The face you'd see there would be riddled with sin.

It was a mirror that did not show the face, but the soul.

And the reflection was always evil, ugly and cold.

It was the darkness of humanity.

Never was the refection in _that_ mirror pretty.

Sometimes people would look inside for fun.

They liked to see their evil reflections and then run.

They liked to see their violent natures in the glass.

But after a time, they'd get bored and on they'd pass.

But then along came I.

I stared into that mirror and was not surprised.

I saw a face who looked gentle, kind, good, pure and fair.

I saw an angel rather than a demon waiting for me there.

The reflection in the mirror looked sad, scared and sweet.

That's because, in my case, the real monster was _me._

_Oh how silly and typical of you to think that the evil one is the one stuck inside the mirror… This time, the Evil One is on the outside!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Like the last chapter, this just deals with the "Good Person v Bad Person" thing, only it subverts the trope that the Bad Person is always the one IN the mirror rather than the one outside of it.


	8. Best Self

I am so glad I got to become my Best Self. I feel so happy and confident now! And the world kneels in reverence before me. Before that serum, I was a nobody. Before the serum, I was my worst self, miserable and suicidal and humiliated. I was a freak and an outcast. I was ugly and disgusting, with nothing going for me. I was unloved, unwanted. It was an endless nightmare of misery, suffering and self-hatred. There was no value to be found in me anywhere, not in the eyes of the world nor in my own.

But after that blessed serum, I became so much… BETTER. In every way! And I don't just mean physically. I became mentally and emotionally perfect too. No more outbursts, meltdowns or crazy symptoms. No more despair, anger, anguish or anxiety. I was in perfect control all the time. I was the master of my emotions. I never got carried away or lost. I was sound of mind, sharp and smart. I was calm, composed and collected. That serum worked true wonders for me, transforming me from a loner and a freak to the most charismatic and perfect human that has ever lived! No more crying, no more screaming, no more embarrassment, just suavity and ease. I was truly cured of any and all ills I might've ever had. I was truly free. That serum made me strong, wise, compassionate, empathetic and one heck of a negotiator!

In time, I actually became one of the world's greatest leaders! I was just so amazing at captivating an audience and helping them empathize that compassion, communication and cooperating became the New World Order. It came to me with natural skill and ease, charming these people and getting them to see things they had previously never considered. It was the closest humanity had ever come to true world peace. No more wars, no more fighting, no more disagreeing. Everything was done through diplomacy and decorum now. We even got rid of all of our bombs and guns and weapons and war machinery. There was simply no desire to keep them anymore!

I am persuasive, balanced, wise, forward-thinking, charming, relatable, attractive, smart and I always have a plan for everyone. It's not just my ability to win an audience. I am great at keeping one as well. My management skills are on par with my legendary charisma. No one else has ever been able to solve as many problems as I have. I mean, I'm pretty close to world peace, and uniting the nations! Can anyone else ever claim such a feat? Yeah, I didn't think so. But that serum, it made me my very Best Self and I have been able to do no wrong ever since. I have fixed so many of humanity's greatest struggles and united us all under one banner. And now that I, this Best Self, and poised to become the leader of this new united world, my reign can truly begin! It is time for the Revelation. It is time to cleanse the Earth. The Anti-Christ has finally arrived, and she is only inches away from her throne…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This started off as a dark subversion on what it means to be one's Best Self, and then developed into an analysis of the Anti-Christ. For some reason, even though the Bible outright says he'll unite and deceive the nations completely, so many people still think the Anti-Christ will be some creepy, unlikeable jerk. That kind of guy is NOT going to be uniting the nations. 
> 
> More likely than not, the Anti-Christ will actually be terrifyingly charming, likeable and charismatic, if he's gonna unite the entire world. And that's exactly what I was trying to get at here. The serum makes a perfect and irresistible human. It makes an Anti-Christ. Now all she has to do is start the apocalypse…


	9. Sp-Eye-Ders

"I just haven't been feeling too well, of late," Cecil admitted to Daisy. She was an old friend of his, and training to be a doctor. Both were things that he desperately needed at the moment. And while he continued to explain his feelings to Daisy, she listened attentively. He described things like self-loathing and self-doubt. He described a negative self-image and nearly no self-esteem. He second-guessed himself all the time and constantly compared himself to everyone else, even an idealized version of himself.

He also talked about how it felt like no matter what he did, or how hard he tried, it was never enough. He'd do something good, but then another side of himself would try to either water down the achievement, or rewrite it as if it were a failure. The only thing his brain would process as a success was absolute perfection, but even then, that still sometimes wasn't enough. It was maddening, to say the least. And then to constantly be comparing himself to others did him no favors. And when those two things combined (his habit of comparing himself to others and feeling like he, himself, was never enough) often led to feelings of guilt, shame, inadequacy, inferiority and an overall sense that he did not deserve the life he had. But even worse than this sense that he was not pulling his own weight, so to speak, was that he was 100% aware of the irrationality of it all.

"I _know_ I'm not supposed to compare myself to others! I _know_ that constantly trying to measure up to an idealized version of myself will only result in disappointment! I _know_ I'm exaggerating! I _know_ I'm better and worthier than I think I am, and I _know_ I'm nowhere near as bad as I describe myself! I am aware of my own cognitive dissonances and distortions, and yet I still fall victim to them! They have words for that, like Imposter Syndrome! I know everything that's wrong with me, every single irrationality! And heck, I even have loads of friends and family who tell me all the time that I am good and kind and successful and worthy, but I literally don't know how to believe them! I try, but it feels as forced as if I were trying to believe in the existence of leprechauns or unicorns! I don't know how to fix myself! I don't know how to change my thoughts! I truly don't know how to believe it when people tell me that I am good, and it is driving me insane!"

And Daisy understood him perfectly. It was one thing to suffer from some sort of issue, but it was arguably worse to be 100% aware of that issue and yet still not know how to get out of it. She had no doubt that this awareness, if anything, made Cecil feel even worse about himself because he was clearly smart enough to know what was wrong, but "stupid" enough that he had no idea how to fix it or cure himself or escape. Daisy didn't need to hear him say more to understand the unmatched frustration and helplessness and despair he must've been feeling. And even more tragic, he said that he had a huge, supportive network of friends and family who could attest to his worth and talent, but he simply could not bring himself to believe a word of it. Without that belief, all the kind words in the world were useless. And now the biggest question was how to change that. How did one start to believe the kind words said about them? Well…

"Come with me," Daisy said at last, getting an idea. Perplexed, but still too unhappy to question it, Cecil obeyed and trotted after her.

A few minutes later, the duo was standing in a surgical room.

"Woah! Hey! Wait a minute! Hold on! You aren't going to operate on me, are you?" Cecil suddenly looked terrified.

"I need you to look into this mirror first," Daisy replied cryptically, gesturing to a mirror right by the door. "And look for 10 seconds!" she added.

"What? Why?" Cecil continued to look nervous, but Daisy only gestured again to the mirror. Heaving a sigh of fear and resignation, Cecil finally turned his gaze onto the smooth, silvery surface. Despite himself, only a second later, he cringed a little at what he saw the mirror.

It was only his reflection, his own face, but seeing it filled him with such disgust, distaste, discomfort and discontent that he still recoiled slightly. He wasn't even that ugly (actually, he was quite handsome), but being forced to look at his own face made his skin crawl and, without even meaning to, he began to scowl at his reflection. This made him look even more sinister…

"Why are we even doing this?" Cecil finally demanded as the 10 seconds ended. He turned to Daisy, still scowling slightly.

"To diagnose you," she replied calmly. Then she explained. There were tiny parasites, informally known as Sp-eye-ders, that looked exactly like what their name implied and did exactly what their status as "parasite" implied. Through unknown means, they would crawl into people's eyes and distort their visions and thoughts, making it hard for them to see the goodness and beauty in themselves. They would nestle in the eyeball and travel back and forth along the optic nerve to the brain. It was the natural venom they secreted that caused these visual and cognitive distortions, that venom coating the eyes, brain and optic nerve, and that was exactly what Cecil was dealing with now.

"I could tell by the way you glared at your reflection," she said.

"They aren't… fatal… are they?" Cecil asked, sounding disgusted and horrified at the thought of _spiders living in his eyeballs_. They were living in his eyeballs. Tiny spiders. Parasites. Living in his eyeballs… And they would scuttle along his optic nerve with their long, pointy little legs, and burrow into his brain and make themselves at home there before crawling back along his optic nerve again to settle back down _inside his eyeballs!_

"No," Daisy reassured him. "And there _is_ a way to get rid of them, but it's a slow process and it can be mildly uncomfortable…" Then she explained again. Surgery. That was the cure here. In order to flush out a Speyeder, all someone needed was a donor eye from a loved one. If it was compatible, that eye would replace one of the two infected eyes that a victim had. By sheer exposure to one normal, healthy, functional, non-infected eye, the other eye would slowly correct itself and kill the Speyeder off. It would be flushed out of the eye, leaving the victim with two normal eyes once more. That was when the second operation came into play.

The donor eye was removed again and returned to its original owner. Then the remaining infected eye of the patient was returned to the patient. Just like in the first round, by being exposed to a noninfected eye, the infected eye would slowly begin to heal itself and dispose of the Speyeder, dissolving it down until there was nothing left. It was a kind of gross process and there was some discomfort (both from the surgery and the slow ocular readjustment) involved, but it was a surefire cure. Besides, when it came to things like negative self-image and esteem, these problems could not just be solved with a snap. Instead, it was going to take some time and effort.

"Gross! Why does it have to be so complicated?!" Cecil cringed at the thought of having one of his eyes cut out, then replaced with someone else's, only to have that eye re-cut out and replaced with his old eye (which would apparently still have a spider living right inside it).

"Because the Speyeders are currently making it impossible for you to see the real you. You are only seeing a distorted reflection, the flaws and faults magnified while the virtues and beauties are muted," she said. "One of the ways to fix that imbalance is to get a clean, healthy eye, which will help you to see the real you again. And that's also why I advise getting a donor eye from a loved one. People like that will see you in a very positive light and that will help restore the balance to your vision," she added. "Once the power of the clean eye starts working, you learn to love yourself again and that will eventually kill off the Speyeders in your infected eye."

It still sounded needlessly complicated, but it was starting to make sense to Cecil. What was one way to fix negative self-image? To see yourself through the eyes of another person, preferably one who held a positive mental image of you. Likewise, what was one way to start believing it when people complimented you? To see yourself through _their_ eyes rather than your own. And besides, like Daisy had said, it was not easy to overcome cognitive distortions. It was not simple to learn to love yourself after hating yourself for so long. It took time and effort and discomfort to see the beauty in yourself, especially if you had gone so long seeing otherwise. Just like a broken bone took time to heal, so too did a "broken" eye. The physical and mental effort it would take to recover would be high. That was why this had to be so needlessly complicated, because the healing process was never fast, easy, simple or painless.

"But wouldn't that be such a wonderful, liberating thing?" Daisy asked Cecil gently. "To see the good in yourself again?" and Cecil had to admit, it sounded pretty relieving. Oh, what he wouldn't give to feel ok again!

"But who should I ask to get an eye from?" he asked. Daisy only replied by smiling and tapping her own. "For real?!" Cecil gasped.

"I love you," Daisy replied gently, and that was the only answer he needed…

The operation took the rest of the day, but the next time Cecil woke up, he was met with three interesting sights. The first was of Daisy, now wearing an eyepatch over her left eye (socket). The second was a jar. Floating inside it was his own left eye, the one Daisy's eye had replaced. Then the third thing Cecil saw came when he looked again into the mirror by the door. He noticed that he was now slightly heterochromatic. Both he and Daisy had brown eyes, but of differing shades. Hers were a bit darker than his. And then, he actually noticed a fourth thing, though it was so subtle that only his subconscious picked up on it. That fourth thing was that, for the first time in quite a while, he was able to look at his reflection without cringing, and he almost thought he saw traces of the handsome man he used to see…

And while Cecil continued to gawk at his face, Daisy stood a few paces away and smiled softly at him again. This handsomeness that he was just now noticing had been there all along. It just took her eye to see it. It took a new eye to remind him of an old trait he had since forgotten…

The rest of the healing process would take a while, and it wouldn't be all sunshine and rainbows, and there _would_ be setbacks, but at least for today, Cecil was on the road to recovery. In Daisy's mind, that was more than enough for now…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I just wanted to make negative self-image into an actual, physical creature, and this is what I came up with.


	10. Don't Let Them Win

Do you see those monsters up there? The ones hanging from the trees, crawling across the ceiling, and hiding in the shadows? Don't let them win. I know they're very persuasive, cunning little beasts, but nothing they say is true. Every word you'll ever hear them say is a lie. No matter how convincing they act and no matter how "factual" their words are, it's all only just a ruse to get you to slip up and let your guard down. As soon as you find yourself being persuaded by them, that's when they attack, and we lose another wonderful person to their deceit.

They'll tell you that you aren't worth it. That you aren't good enough. That you don't deserve all the blessings that you have. Or they will say you aren't REALLY a good person. They'll do anything they can to infect you with self-doubt, and that's the first step in their master plan. As soon as you begin to question your validity and worth, your goodness and talent, they'll dig their claws into your skin just a little deeper.

They'll hurt you, then convince you not to cry out. They'll keep you quiet. They'll tell you not to bother others. Not to talk about your pain. They'll call you weak, and threaten you with humiliation and shame should you dare try to reach out and ask for help. Even though they'll maul you relentlessly, squirming all over and inside of you, they'll tell you to be strong and keep a game face on. They'll tell you not to break, or even bend.

They'll tell you that because others have had it worse, you have no right to attempt to alleviate your own pain. They'll try to convince you that it is your cross to bear, and that the only way you can deserve to be rid of it is if you manage to defeat it on your own. But that is just the next lie in their twisted schemes. By insisting that the only way to win against your demons is to win alone, they're isolating you from the most powerful tool in your arsenal: your allies, and your ability to ask for help.

By silencing you, they are killing you. It gives them free reign to continue to destroy your body and mind without a care in the world. If they continue to whisper to you that asking for help is weak, or bothersome, or annoying, they know you'll all but roll over and let them have their way with you. If they can convince you that others have it worse than you, and that somehow means you can no longer reach out, then they have essentially immobilized you.

But that's just another part of their lies. And the final lie is the lie that all of this pain and suffering is deserved. It's not. It never is. No matter who you are or what you may have done in the past, no one deserves to be attacked by these horrible little creatures of the deep. They're just looking for a feast, and prey that does not fight back is the easiest target. All they need is to latch onto you, then they leech you dry without hindrance.

By convincing you that you deserve this grisly fate, to be a host to hungry and heartless little parasites, they successfully destroy you, and the world loses one more good person that it could've kept otherwise. And the isolation doesn't just keep you from escaping their little fangs and claws. It also convinces you that there _is_ no escape at all. It convinces you that you are alone in your pain, and that you are somehow an outsider. That is their smartest, cruelest lie of all.

Are you suffering? Well be quiet, because no one else would care or understand. Do not trouble the others with your trivial aches and pains. That is what those little parasites will try to tell you as they burrow into your mind and take up residency there. They'll try to tell you that no one else feels the way you do. By convincing you of that, you fail to see the army at your side and at your back. Those parasites make you blind to all the many ways you have to defeat them. But if you could manage to ignore their cries despite your gut instincts, you could find that there are many tools at your disposal.

You are not alone, we are all suffering together. So what we must do is help each other. If we cannot love ourselves, we will love each other, so that way, the love is still spread evenly around. We will help each other dig out all of these pesky parasites until the pain is gone. We will then realize how silly we were. Even though those creatures speak honeyed words with convincing "evidence", it's still just a sham. The truth is, this world is much more likely to respond to a cry of help than you may expect.

True, it still is no ideal world that we live in. But the monsters tell you nobody will ever want to hear your problems. There is the lie. In truth, because we all suffer these pesky little blights together, that makes us all the more likely to understand, empathize, reach out and help. All you have to do is take that courageous first step, ignoring their annoying little whispers, and drown them out by asking and telling.

I'm hurting, I need help, I want support. I'm in pain, but I don't want to feel this way anymore. Even if there are others out there who have it worse, I am still worthy of time, attention, care and recovery.

And as soon as you find it in yourself to say these things, our side takes another victory, because with every person that we help, that's another host these blights lose. Soon, we're gonna starve them out until there's nothing left for them to do except go extinct. What a glorious day that will be! But we need every soldier we can. So that's why I mean it with the utmost sincerity and support when I beg of you, don't let them win!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Seems like everyone I know suffers some secret storm, but always feels too alone, afraid or ashamed to reach out. I have likened this issue to little ticks and mites that worm their way into your body and eat you from the inside out. If we can open ourselves to each other, then, we can help each other remove these annoying little buggers until we are able to rest assured that our pain is NOT deserved, and that we all have a right to feel ok again, no matter what our minds may try to convince us of.


End file.
